


Someone To Stay

by MagnoliasInBloom



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnoliasInBloom/pseuds/MagnoliasInBloom
Summary: Once bitten, twice shy. Can Claire trust enough to open her heart to Jamie?





	1. Chapter 1

Blue fire.

The condensation on her glass trickled unheeded while Claire could not take her eyes off him.

How had walked onstage and grabbed a guitar as well as everyone’s attention in a few seconds. To think she had never heard of him before, or the band; until her friend had dragged her to the Edinburgh bar. To help her forget, if she could, at least for two hours.

Claire appreciated Geillis’s intentions as she watched him croon into the mike. His long deft fingers strummed the guitar. His tousled red waves fell into his eyes and with a quick flick of his head, his gaze met hers for a second. And how her breath had hitched.

Oh no.

He didn’t miss a beat. Claire feigned nonchalance as well and pulled out her phone. She glanced briefly at him again while the device whirred. Information gleaned from the adverts plastered on every wall. James Fraser, The Clan, band members…

_Lead singer of Scottish band The Clan, 28, born in Inverness to parents –_

“Claire, you promised, come on!” Startled from her stalking, Claire turned to Geillis and plunked her phone face down. A long-forgotten familiar tingling had begun at the base of her spine. She drowned it once more in whiskey. Never again.

She brushed her hair back, sipping, savoring the oaken burn. Onstage, James Fraser sang of love unrequited.

 

  _Hey lass, come with me_

_Say you love me_

_Say you’ll be mine_

_Hey lass…_

The barest hint of a Scots lilt made Claire smile, the first in days. She had escaped to Edinburgh after surprising Frank doing ‘research’ with his young assistant. In bed. Had banged on Geillis’s door unannounced with her bag stocked from the Heathrow duty free. G pouring straight tequila down her throat as she sobbed. Four years of her life, wasted – and for what? For who?

The rain had not let up for the better part of a week. Claire’s mood remained just as stormy. She had almost regretted crashing at G’s, thinking Ibiza might have been nicer. Until now.

The song (“Hey Lass”, furtively Googled) ended to thunderous applause from the tightly packed crowd. James Fraser smiled, bowing slightly and waving a hand to acknowledge his band mates.

“We’d like to thank ye for coming out tonight,” James smiled softly, “and here’s one for the road.”

Pulsing drums met the twang of bass. It reverberated in Claire’s chest. The band launched into another song, the last of the evening. Claire missed the intro as she focused on the way James caressed the microphone.

 

  _Watch and learn_

_Hand holds steady_

_Thought you’d won_

_But here’s the burn_

_I know ye, more’s the pity_

_I’m letting go…_

Here was anger, flooding Claire as the song brought forth mental pictures better left hidden. The bed in shambles. The noises. Her gasp. Their surprise. Fuck them. More whiskey for her trouble.

Geillis elbowed Claire, winking at her obvious staring of Jamie Fraser. Claire rolled her eyes, leaning in to shout over the clamor of people singing along. “Knock it off! He’s cute, that’s all.”

“I’ll say!” Geillis winked again and hollered at the stage. Claire laughed and emptied her glass. What harm could it do, this insignificant attraction?

She couldn’t help watching him. His tall commanding presence drew the eyes in. Jamie stepped out of the spotlight as the bassist broke into a solo. Jamie grabbed a bottle of water as he glanced over the audience.

 Attraction, pure and simple. That’s all it was.

 But it could be bad.

 _This_ , whatever it was, could lead to a downward spiral of sorts. Didn’t she know it all too well? How four years could mean absolutely fuck-all to someone all too willing to throw it away at a moment’s notice? And she was sure it had been more than one moment. Fuck Frank.

Claire gestured Geillis she was headed for the loo. Pushing her way through the masses, she remembered why she avoided clubs and the like.

After a quick visit, she fought against the throng at the bar and was suddenly confronted by a large man dressed all in black. He spoke into a discreet hand radio.

“Excuse me,” Claire muttered as politely as she could. When she tried squeezing past him, he put his hand on her shoulder. Claire turned, aggravated, not willing to endure a stupid pick-up line or scheme.

“The band would like to ask you backstage.” The man gestured to a curtained-off area beside the bar.

“Uh, sorry. The band?” A certain red-headed giant perhaps… No.

“Yeah. Come on.” He turned brusquely and expected Claire to automatically follow. Nothing riled her more.

“I’m with someone, actually, so-“

“Oh, they can join you,” he said dismissively.

“Well, I don’t know. Let me ask her.”

Claire weaved her way among the sea of tables and tapped her friend’s arm.

“Hey babe, almost gave you up for lost! I ordered us another round!” She tipped her glass in Claire’s direction and swallowed deep.

“G, there’s this guy who’s asking us backstage. Band wants to hang out with us.” Claire shrugged noncommittally.

“Hang out? Seriously?” Geillis snorted. “There’s a euphemism if I’ve ever heard one.”

“You mean-“

“Darling, there’s only one thing hanging out could mean. A rock band backstage? At this hour? Pffft. Now, if you want to go, get your rebound in, I’m happy to go with. Your call.” Geillis downed the rest of her whiskey tumbler.

“Oh. Well.” Claire felt disappointed. God knew why. Was it all men? She’d never even heard of the band, or Jamie Fraser, until tonight. She wasn’t quite ready to become a groupie or stick it to Frank with a one-night stand just yet.

 She caught the crew member’s eye, who waited with mild impatience on the edge of the crowd. She smiled apologetically. She shook her head, mouthing, “No thanks.”

 Such a shame, really.


	2. Chapter 2

Coffee felt anticlimactic, after the noise and pound of the club. The fluorescents highlighted the bright orange vinyl booths, making every spilled sugar grain on the table glow.

Claire sipped slowly, enjoying the scalding of her tongue. The whiskey buzz had been on the verge of turning into tipsiness, but before that could happen Claire had dragged Geillis out of the club and into the closest open diner she could see. 24 hour caffeine purveyors.

“Do you regret it?” Geillis watched Claire over the rim of her cup. “Not going backstage I mean.”

“No. You were very clear on what their true intentions were. Why?” Claire raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Not anymore.” G tilted her head towards the diner door behind Claire. The faint tinkle of a bell preceded the entrance and exit of customers.

The lounging server at the counter had her feet up on a stool, reading a magazine, but stood and grabbed a bunch of menus at the sound of the door. She dropped them just as fast and gasped.

Claire turned, and who should come through the door but James Fraser and the rest of The Clan. She couldn’t for the life of her remember all their names just then – her eyes were helplessly riveted on the tall man who smiled gently at the dumbfounded server and stooped to retrieve the fallen menus.

“Here you go.” James Fraser held them out to her – Laoghaire, read her tag. Claire and Geillis watched this encounter silently, while the men with James Fraser (could she  _stop_  thinking of his name like that?) waited patiently for the girl to react. She hadn’t, thus far. Her hands went to her flaming cheeks and her mouth fell open.

“You’re—they’re… you’re— “ Laoghaire stammered.

“Jamie. Pleased to meet ye.”  _Jamie_  put the menus on the counter once it seemed clear Laoghaire wasn’t quite up to the job at the moment. He extended a hand that was quickly taken in a death grip. Claire and Geillis exchanged amused glances.

“Oh my God, oh my God! It’s you! Here!” Laoghaire jumped up and down, still holding Jamie’s hand. He smiled good-naturedly and slowly extricated himself from her grip. “Could I have a picture?”

“Of course. Here, lads.” The men quickly surrounded them, subtly stepping in between Jamie and the girl. She pulled her mobile from her apron pocket and looked around wildly for someone to oblige.

“Would you mind?” Laoghaire finally shoved the phone at Geillis, who stood from the booth and held it up and snapped 3-4 pictures for good measure. As the flash went off, Claire caught Jamie’s eye, smiling at her and not for the picture. She allowed him a small smile in return, remembering certain invitations and talk of groupies.

“Thank you so much!” Laoghaire squealed. “Let me find you a table or do you prefer— “

“A table will be just fine,” Jamie interrupted. “Perhaps this one?” He pointed at the booth Claire and G were occupying.

Claire began to fume. The whole empty diner and he was seriously asking to have them booted? Rock star or no—

“May we join you ladies?” Jamie smiled disarmingly, running a hand through his hair. Behind the apparent nonchalance Claire detected a hint of nerves. “These are my mates, Rupert, William, Ian.” Each nodded and smiled in return.

“Sure!” Geillis grinned and moved down the seat. Claire followed suit more hesitantly, looking daggers at her friend. Jamie squeezed in next to her. Six to a booth was a slightly tight fit, but they managed somehow. “I’m Geillis, and this is Claire.”

The men (more boyish up close, including Jamie, Claire noted) turned to Laoghaire, still standing by breathlessly. Rupert, the drummer, winked at the girl. “Let’s have a keek at those menus then, shall we?”

Quarters were a bit cramped for flipping the laminated pages. Jamie couldn’t seem to help brushing Claire’s hands every time he ran a finger down the proffered items. Claire picked up her coffee cup only to discover it was empty.

“Can we get another?” Jamie gestured at the server, who scampered away for the pot.

“Thanks.” Claire smiled as her cup was topped off. Laoghaire ignored her, eyes only for Jamie.

The rest of the men ordered burgers, fry-ups, and more coffee. Laoghaire balanced the tray full of food and lingered eagerly by the side of the table.

“Could ye maybe leave the pot?” Jamie gave her a dazzling smile and she grinned back, setting the coffee down and backing away slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

“So.” Jamie forked some chips over to his plate, while Geillis flirted with the rest of the men—Claire focused on her cup like her life depended on it.

“So?”

“We asked you backstage at the pub.”

“ _We_?” Claire raised her eyebrow at him, and sipped. Two could play this game.

“Och, weel.” He ducked his head and the red strands tickled his forehead. “Not we, then. I asked ye backstage. Ye looked… intriguing.”

Claire glanced at Geillis. She was laughing raucously at something Rupert had said – no doubt something lecherous. The men’s conversation had faded into the background as Claire focused her attention on Jamie.

“I’m not a local. I’m visiting with my friend. I had…” She took a deep breath. “A bad experience in London. I needed to get away.” She didn’t understand the need to pour her troubles out for this stranger.

“What kind of bad experience?” Jamie’s heavy eyebrows knit together.

Claire shrugged, despondency settling briefly on her features. “Romantic, you could say.” She waved her hand dismissively, not willing to go into details at the moment. “How about you?”

“Nothing as bad as that,” Jamie smiled, making the corners of her own mouth lift ever so slightly. “We’re on tour, heading south. We’ve done Edinburgh, tomorrow’s Glasgow, then Newcastle and Leeds . Then Manchester, Liverpool, and Cambridge, and ending in London.”

“Sounds exhausting.” Claire sipped again. “And where’s home?”

“Scotland, obviously. Place called Lallybroch. Family farm, for generations and all that. Can’t wait to get back. You?”

“Based in London. I’m a nurse.”

She spoke of the hospital and her cozy flat. Of her childhood with wandering Uncle Lambert and her favorite bookshop. Of her longing for mornings when she could sleep in and her dislike for high heels. Of the way she drank her coffee and the most difficult medical case to ever cross her path.

He filled her in with the details of his large family – his sister Jenny, married to Ian their keyboard player and his nieces and nephews. How he had taught himself to play guitar in between farm chores. How his parents had encouraged him to pursue his dream of music and crowds who clapped and cheered. How he had found his band – his  _clan_  – in Ian the pianist, William the bassist, Rupert the drummer, and his uncle Murtagh as manager.

Two hours later, as Claire happened to glance at her watch, and still going strong at 3 AM. The food was gone and the whole coffee pot practically empty. One of the other men—Ian, Claire recalled—raised his hand for the check, glancing briefly at Jamie, who nodded. Laoghaire bounded over, paper slip in hand.

“No charge for you. On the house.” She smiled ingratiatingly at Jamie and thrust the check into Claire’s hand. “Two coffees, £2.40.”

“Och, I insist.” Jamie pulled a £50 out of his pocket and set it on the table.

“But that’s too much!” The girl’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She reached out for the bill and drew her hand back, afraid to touch it for fear it wasn’t real.

“Nae bother. Thank you, lass.” He nudged Willie, who had been sitting to his left all along unobtrusively, and they all slid out of the booth. Geillis flushed and laughing still, her hand on Rupert’s shoulder.

Well, well, Claire thought, what have we here. She caught G’s eye and winked, which only caused Geillis to giggle unabashedly.

Jamie placed his hand on Claire’s back, guiding her towards the door. She couldn’t resist a dig at Laoghaire as she turned her head back and called out, “Thanks so much!” while the girl just stood there, agape and overwhelmed by what had transpired.

The burst of cold air on her face was most unwelcome, after the secluded warmth of the diner. Instinctively her shoulders hunched against the chilled wind, and she drew her coat about her. The rest of the band was still talking animatedly with Geillis, and Claire managed to catch her slip a napkin with her number to Rupert the drummer; he tucked it in safely into his jacket pocket.

She turned to face Jamie as much as she could, still shielding herself from the freezing gusts. “Thank you for the coffee Jamie. It was nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand a bit idiotically and was surprised to feel the enveloping warmth of his own.

“Claire. It was lovely to meet ye. I hope… perhaps… we can meet again.” Jamie gave a most convincing bow, which would not have been amiss in an earlier century. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into her skin.

Her heart stuttered, against her will.

Against her will, images of Frank flooded her mind. When they went out on dinner dates, when she sat through his endless lectures, when he supported her decision to apply for medical school, when they spent time together in the morning reading the paper, when they had kissed and touched and loved. When she had been betrayed.

And she thought,  _Never again._

Claire pulled her hand out of Jamie’s grasp as gently as she could, hoping her face would not betray the anguish his simple gesture had triggered. “I wish you good luck Jamie, with the rest of your tour.” No word on meeting again, no number exchanged, no last name given.

She turned to the William, Rupert, and Ian; shook hands with each of them quickly, nodding goodbye. She took Geillis by the elbow and pulled her away, down the street, and managed to glance back only once.

Jamie stood there, fiery hair glowing in the street light, smiling after them. A smile that said,  _Soon_.


	3. Chapter 3

“And this happened, how?”

Claire probed gently into the child’s scalp, retreating when his shoulders hunched in pain. The boy glanced up at her, smiling sheepishly. Fergus - as his chart read – reached out for his mother’s hand, who held it tightly with worry since walking into A&E.

“I was playing with my friends, in the backyard of Louis’s house. There were some rocks there and we took turns to see who could throw one the furthest, you know?” His legs started swinging back on forth, as he recounted his tale.

“Yes, I know,” Claire rolled her eyes, but smiled gently. “Continue.”

“And Louis took this giant rock and heaved it at the chain-link fence that separates his yard from the neighbors’ and the rock bounced back and hit me in the head. It hurt a lot, but I was alright, but then my friends started yelling something awful, and I felt a tickle on my face. It was my blood, a whole lot of it!” Fergus’s eyes grew wide in remembrance, and turned a little pale again. His mother squeezed his hand, shaking her head at the boys’ exploits.

“I see. Well, here’s the doctor now!” Claire swept aside as Dr. Abernathy joined them in the small room. “He’ll have you set to rights in no time.”

Claire assisted Dr. Abernathy as he anesthetized the area, and began suturing the torn scalp. Fergus cried out but once, and then pursed his lips bravely, while his mother turned away from the needle. In about twenty minutes, the doctor was done, and was busy giving the boy’s mother instructions on how to care for the wound and reassuring Fergus he would have a small “wicked scar” to show off to his friends.

Claire smiled and waved goodbye at the retreating patient. She began the final touches on the necessary paperwork before filing away the information at the nurses’ station. Her head bent over the documents, a shadow was suddenly cast over the paper.

“Claire.”

She froze.

It had been four weeks since she’d last heard that voice. She wouldn’t pretend now that she hadn’t thought about it, or even missed it sometimes, but it was still unexpected. Fighting to get her features into control before they became transparent on her glass face, she took a deep breath and raised her head to look at him.

Frank’s face was the same, handsome and refined, with deep lines etched into the corners of his mouth. At times amused, others worried or even angry, today the lines told a story of contrition. Claire didn’t feel like reading it.

She set her lips into a straight line, and stared at Frank. She refused to be the one to speak first, and damned if she thought it was good to see him again, the lying cheating bastard.

“You lying, cheating bastard.” So much for self control.

“Claire, please…” Frank’s hands – so polished, so genteel – reached out to her, pleading, but not quite touching. “Listen, I have—“

“Nothing to say, and nothing I want to hear. I want you to leave.” Claire pushed her chair back, tossing the pen onto the papers and striding out of the nurses’ station, Frank right behind her.

“I know what I did was stupid, and unfair, and you did not deserve to find out like that, Claire, I’m sorry!” Once outside the A&E doors, he grasped her shoulder to stop her.

Claire whirled and shoved him back, catching him unawares. “No, I did  _not_  deserve that at all, you wanker!” She pushed her hair out of her face, and let her rage fly. “Four years, you sodding bastard! Four years of my life that I will never get back!” She walked back, tears streaming uncontrollably; after her trip to Scotland, back in London she had refused all contact with Frank, pushing him out of her thoughts and out of her life. He had made attempts, but she had changed her number and slept often at the hospital through endless shifts. Avoiding, resisting, trying to heal. “Go away!”

“Claire, I mean to explain and I want you to listen. Let’s go.” Frank came at her, intending to take her by the arm and drag her away somewhere they could talk without witnesses to his disgrace. His hand, poised to grab her, was slapped away by a figure looming behind Claire.

“I believe the lady asked  _ye_  to go.” That soft, burred cadence. Claire turned to find Jamie Fraser himself standing behind her, his eyes a steely blue. His gaze was trained on Frank, who retreated minutely in the face of this new threat.

“I don’t think this is any of your business. Leave us alone to talk, will you?” Frank’s bravado lasted all of ten seconds until Jamie stepped out from behind Claire and asserted his height and breadth of shoulder. In his black leather jacket and unkempt red hair he looked positively dangerous.

She had no words for what was unfolding before her, confused at seeing Jamie in London at her place of work, and watching him defend her from Frank’s unwelcome advances. Her heart surged with adrenaline; whether her fight response or Jamie’s presence was responsible, she didn’t know.

“Frank, please, just go. There’s nothing else to say,” Claire said. Jamie remained still as a statue in front of her, shielding her from Frank. Frank tried to peer around the tall Scot’s figure, but Jamie wouldn’t let him make eye contact.

“Ye heard her. Go now, before I make ye.” Jamie turned to Claire, and gestured towards the hospital doors. “Inside,  _mo nighean donn_ ,  and call security if ye must.” The time elapsed had felt like hours to her, but only a few minutes had actually passed. Crossing the A&E doors, Dr. Abernathy met her and caught her by the elbows as Claire trembled slightly.

“Claire? What is it? Do you need help?” The good doctor glanced outside and watched the confrontation. “Who’s that?”

“Frank,” Claire managed. “He showed up, wanted to speak with me. I said no. He followed me outside, and then—well, Jamie was there.”

“I take it Jamie is the redhead. Here, Lady Jane.” Dr. Abernathy, calling Claire by his nickname for her, led her to an empty chair in the waiting room. Outside, Jamie called out to Frank using what sounded like a few choice curse words in Gaelic as Claire’s former partner disappeared around the corner, the back of his neck flushed red in anger.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie walked through the automatic doors, and his eyes immediately went to Dr. Abernathy holding Claire’s hand in support. They tightened momentarily before his face broke out in a gentle smile.

“Hi, I’m Jamie, a friend of Claire’s.” He held out a large hand, forcing the doctor to relinquish his hold on her.

“I’m Joe Abernathy, a colleague of Claire’s. Thank you for your help, man. Lady Jane here was having a pretty rough time of it.” He shook Jamie’s hand fiercely in gratitude, and palmed his shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. LJ, take your break now, why don’t you.” Behind Jamie’s unsuspecting back, Dr. Abernathy winked and strolled off.

Claire flushed, cursing her glass face once again. She’d be lying (but only to herself) if she hadn’t thought about Jamie every once in a while for the past few weeks. A little. She glanced up at Jamie, who took a seat beside her on the uncomfortable chairs.

He broke the silence first. “Lady Jane?”

She took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Just a nickname Joe has for me. He’s American, and found my English accent hilarious when he first arrived.”

“And the other one? The rude one?” Jamie frowned.

“Thank you so much Jamie. That was… unexpected. Frank shouldn’t have been here,” said Claire, shuddering briefly.

“Frank. Was he yer bad romantic experience?”

“You remember that?” Claire asked in surprise.

“I remember many things about ye. Mostly, how I forgot to ask for yer number last time we met,” Jamie grinned. “Ye didn’t offer either, so…”

“So how come you’re here?” Claire blurted out before she could stop herself. Jamie brushed his hand against the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Weel—seeing as I had no way of contacting ye or even yer surname to go by, I asked Rupert. He was verra much enamored of yer friend Geillis, and he asked her about ye. For me, ye ken.”

“You’re in London. I thought you were on tour.”

“We’ve done with the tour. I wanted talk to ye. See ye, mebbe. Ask ye to join me for dinner, perhaps.”

Claire felt the telltale flush creeping up her neck once more. She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. She didn’t know what to say to this man. This unexpected savior who had come all the way from God knew where. To see her. Just  _her_.

“I… don’t know. I don’t know what to say.” Claire felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh or cry. And she didn’t know if she wanted to hug or strangle Geillis.

“Claire. I dinna mean to push ye now.” Jamie leaned in. “It doesna have to be dinner. I’ll take whatever ye can give me. Coffee, if ye like. A cup of water from the cooler would do as well.”

“But why?” She met his eyes this time; she let him have a glimpse of the turmoil inside, the furious pain and anger of betrayal that still raged within. The feeling that would not let her open up quite yet. Perhaps ever.

“Why? You’re bonny, have eyes like whiskey and a strength about ye—“

“Strength?” Claire’s voice shook slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I understand yer wounds are raw and smartin’ and I respect that. I just want to get to know ye a bit better, as a friend. I’ll not ask for more than ye want to give. Is that alright?”

“Coffee.” Coffee with a friend was alright. No danger there. They had already had coffee before.

Jamie’s smile was blinding. “Coffee is fine. When?”

“Tomorrow? 6 o’clock.” Before she could change her mind, she stood. “I must get back to my shift.”

“I’ll be here. Til 6 then.” He unfolded himself gracefully from the chair and strode to the doors.

“Oh, and Jamie?” He turned.

“It’s Beauchamp. Claire Beauchamp.”


	4. Chapter 4

At noon, Claire found a spare moment to grab her mobile and text Geillis, on the off chance that she would be on break too. 

_traitor. what did u say to him about me?_

She waited a full twenty minutes before the phone buzzed in reply.

_technically, nothing. i told Rupert, ye ken? ;)_

_what did u say specifically to Rupert then?_

_oh, only that you workd at the University College Hospital A &E, 235 Euston Road, London, NW1 2BU. ur lucky i didn’t give him your home address._ 

Claire gripped the phone, mildly wishing it were Geillis’s neck. So throttling it was, not hugging as previously considered.

_well, he showed up here. chased frnk away, as it were, nice surprise. and he asked me out for coffee._

_!!!!!!!!!!!! :O :O_

_TECHNICALLY, dinner, but i’m afraid i can only do coffee. For now._

_claire, i must get back to wk, but i am calling you later. don’t even think about not taking my call. OK?!?!?!!!_

Claire allowed herself a small grin.  _alright, we’ll talk later._

She put her phone away, but it buzzed one more time.

_u must name one of ur future bairns after me!_

Claire stuffed the wretched thing in her pocket and walked away, leaving all thought of blue-eyed, red-haired children behind.

_______________________________________________________________________

The lavender sweater hung inside her locker, while Claire just stared at it. It was 5:45, and Jamie was due in fifteen minutes. Should she change out of her scrubs, put a bit of makeup on, or just stroll out in her nurse-wear, tennis shoes, and tangled curls?

“Why am I even debating this?” Claire muttered to herself, before slamming the locker door shut with a clang. After washing her hands at the sink, she pulled a hair tie out of her purse, making a messy bun on the top of her head. If Jamie was the sort of man that cared much about a woman’s appearance, then she wouldn’t want to go out with him after this anyway.

In her navy pea coat, Claire stepped out of the hospital, bundling herself against the chill in the air. At six on the dot, Jamie turned the corner, in a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and that damnable leather jacket. Noticing Claire immediately, his face broke out in a sunny grin; he came right up to her and gave her a brief peck on the cheek.

“Hello, Claire. I’m glad to see ye didna change yer mind.”

“Hi, Jamie,” Claire managed, still a little stunned at his greeting. “I almost did, just now, wishing I had worn something else. You look very… well, James Dean comes to mind.”

He laughed, deep bass and staccato. “Ye look lovely. I’d love for people to see I’m out with a  doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Claire amended with a smile.

“Not yet.” Jamie extended his hand toward the street. “Shall we?”

That hand found its way to the small of her back, there but not touching, and Claire did not know what to make of it. She imagined it was him not pushing himself on her, letting her take the lead—and she liked him for it.

In shy, comfortable silence, Claire walked them to a nearby café she frequented with the other nurses. They sat across from each other and ordered from the waitress, black decaf for her, and cream and sugar for Jamie.

“Could we get some scones with clotted cream please?” Claire asked. The server nodded with a smile and swept away to fetch a plate. “They’re absolute heaven,” she explained to Jamie, helping herself to a steaming scone.

“Did ye eat properly today?” Jamie probed. “Seems like they work ye to the bone.” 

Claire smiled. “I had a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria.”

“I’ll no’ have ye go hungry. Please, let’s order something more.” He raised his hand to signal their server, but Claire brought it back down. A tingle shot across her skin and she withdrew hastily. 

“Perhaps later.”  _So you_ are _considering a ‘later’_ , a voice piped up in her mind. Claire shut down this inner monologue with a long sip from her cup.

“So Claire…” Jamie brushed his hand against the back of his neck; this was a gesture she had seen before and thought oddly endearing. “I’d like to apologize for asking yer friend Geillis for information on where to contact ye.”

“Oh.” Claire blinked. “There’s no need really.”

“She told me ye changed yer number ye see,” Jamie continued, with red-tipped ears. “And I certainly wasna goin’ to show up unannounced at yer doorstep.”

“It’s fine. It’s nice to see you again.” She looked down at the table and breathed deeply. “I guess you should know what took me to that bar in the first place, weeks ago.”

“Only if ye care to tell me. I assumed Frank did something bad.” He stirred another sugar in with a nod for her to continue—if she wanted to.

“Frank cheated.” Claire swallowed hard. “I caught him in the act, you know—” here Jamie winced in sympathy—“and I fled to Edinburgh to see a friendly face. Geillis helped me drown my sorrows.” 

“And then, like a wee idiot, I asked ye backstage and you thought I wanted—“

“I admit, I was a bit flattered.” Claire grinned, remembering. “Mostly annoyed though.” 

“Were ye?” Jamie’s eyes gleamed, teasing. His hand lay close to hers on the table. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, and she took the spoon off the saucer instead. The waitress refilled their cups and lay down a fresh plate of scones.

“A bit.” Claire inhaled the sugary yeast of the bread, the sharpness of the coffee, and the spicy scent that was him. “It’s been a month. And you were right, it’s still raw and hurting. Less than yesterday, but more than tomorrow.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her tone, and almost succeeded. Her eyes met his honest, open gaze and she thought he understood.

“I suppose that’s how it goes. One day at a time.” Jamie squeezed her hand briefly, unawares, and too soon let go.

Flustered, she bit into a warm scone and licked the crumbs off her lips. “Tell me about your tour, then. Seemed like an awful lot of cities in such a short time.”

“It was hellish betimes, lass. It helps that we are all genuinely good mates and we love what we do. Ian’s my brother-in-law, ye ken?”

“I didn’t! He married your…?”

“Sister. Jenny. I’m an uncle four times over. They’ve managed to carry on despite the long distance.” Jamie’s blue eyes sparkled in remembrance of his nieces and nephews.

Claire smiled and raised her cup to the mysterious Jenny. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Aye, and abstinence too, apparently.” The Scottish burr of rolling r’s ensnared her into a feeling of warmth and security long forgotten. Claire laughed, and it felt good to laugh, openly and truthfully, cleansing her heart.

Jamie took a bite of a scone liberally spread with cream. “Ian’s always been by my side. We’re childhood friends, and wi’ Jenny always about, it only seemed natural for them to get marrit.” When he spoke with emotion, his accent got thicker, she noticed.

“And the rest of the band?”

“Cousins. And our manager is our uncle, Murtagh,” said Jamie.

“All in the family indeed. And why music? Don’t get me wrong, you’re very talented,” Claire clarified as Jamie cleared his throat in amusement.

“Even though ye had never heard of us before?” His eyes gleamed with humor.

“Geillis would have told you, of course.” Claire blushed.

“Weel, my da took me to a concert when I was eight years old, to see U2. They played in Edinburgh at Murrayfield Stadium. The first notes began and it was puir magic—how everyone responded and I thought, I want that someday.”

Another comfortable silence stretched between them. The sky outside had darkened rapidly into November night. Small flakes were falling; they melted as soon as they brushed against the window. It had been an hour—or perhaps two, Claire wasn’t keeping track, to be honest—and even more surprisingly, she didn’t want to leave.

“And ye, why nursing?”

“I suppose I like helping people. I was always fascinated by the first aid tent at Uncle Lamb’s expeditions and digs. He was an archaeologist. I had a most unusual upbringing.” Claire grinned into the dregs of her coffee when Jamie looked taken aback. “I know how to dig latrines and light fires and the proper procedure for cataloguing priceless ancient artifacts.

“But it was healing that attracted me. When men from the dig would come in, hurt or sick, and I could help do something for them. And I hope to continue doing that, when—if—I get into medical school.”

Jamie tapped her hand with a long finger. “So ye are plannin’ to be a doctor! I knew it! It’s a relief, bein’ certain about what it is we want to do in life, isn’t it?”

“Frank always said he was jealous, that I’d always known what my calling was,” Claire said. “He wasn’t always an arse.”

The waitress came over with the check and an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to toss you out, but we’re closing soon. Would you mind cashing out with me? You don’t have to leave yet, though.” Jamie gave her a dazzling smile and pulled a £20 note.

Noting Claire’s glance at the bill—far too much for what they had consumed, even with tip—Jamie explained, “I always felt guilty about spending hours and hours at cafés in Scotland and only drinkin’ water. Now that I can, I like to make it up to others.” He put the money on the small tray and told the waitress to keep the change.

That brought to mind their previous coffee encounter. “If the tour’s over, why are you in London then?” Claire asked.

“Och, I live here,” Jamie answered.

“I thought you said you lived on your family’s farm, Lolling- something?” Claire said, confused.

“Lallybroch,” Jamie corrected gently. “Aye, that’s home, but not where I live. Verra important distinction.” He tried to wink, but was apparently incapable of it; he managed to blink with both eyes and nod at the same time, which made Claire burst out laughing again.

Seizing her hand suddenly, he looked eagerly into her eyes. “A friend of ours, Hugh, owns a bar here, Duke’s. He’s asked us to play this weekend, and we said yes, as a surprise for his patrons. He’s a good lad, he gave us one of our biggest breaks early on.”

Claire sat unmoving, staring distractedly at their hands together and trying not to notice that tingling sensation that seemed to develop whenever their skin came into contact. Trying not to get caught in the intense azure of his gaze which she was studiously ignoring. If she looked, she would say yes. Yes to anything he suggested or wanted. And it felt like too much, too soon.

“Jamie—” 

“Come. Please. I’d really love for ye to be there, Claire. Bring Geillis if ye like—I know Rupert would.”

“I don’t know.”  _Don’t do this. Don’t do this to me._ “It seems complicated. I mean, you’re James bleeding rock-star Fraser and you seem all kinds of perfect. I can’t deny you’re attractive. That I’m attracted to you.”  _Just say it_. “I’m drawn to you—this—whatever  _this_  is. But my head… it’s not there yet.”

Jamie’s thumb circled her palm, eliciting uninvited sparks. “And yer heart?”

Claire flushed red. “Oh, Jamie.”

“I’d like to try for it. As long as it takes. I’ll be here—you can have whatever you need from me. I’ll wait, Claire. I’ll stay.”


	5. Chapter 5

There was a short line of people standing outside Duke’s, waiting for their turn to go in. Claire, arms crossed, went up to the security guard holding a clipboard.

“Are you on the list?” he barked.

“Um, Claire Beauchamp?” 

“Oh.” His gruff demeanor changed instantly. “Says ‘ere you’re VIP.” He pulled a lanyard with blue tags dangling that read DUKE’S. “Go on in. Ask for Duncan at the bar.”

“Thanks.” Claire slipped the pass over her head and walked into the pulsing, smoky darkness.

Everyone inside looked like they’d stepped out of  _Rolling_   _Stone_  or something, Claire thought. She was glad for once she’d listened to Geillis’s advice and dressed up a little for the occasion; she was wearing makeup on her normally pale face and wild curls, a short blue dress with heels – and the black biker jacket Mary her co-worker had lent her to match a certain red-haired singer.

She walked up to the bar. The only bartender on duty could only be Duncan. As she approached, he noticed the VIP pass and immediately gave her a glass of champagne, directing her backstage. “To the green room, love!” he shouted over the din.

Claire was still unsure about this. And  _this_ , exactly, was whatever she wanted it to be. Wasn’t that what he had said? For now, he was a friend. And friends could see other friends and support each other at events like this. As much as she – and Rupert – would have liked Geillis to be there, a seven hour drive from Edinburgh and a hectic work schedule was not feasible.

Down a darkened hallway hidden behind a black curtain by the bar, Claire reached a door marked for performers. Boisterous laughter could be heard on the other side, and Claire wondered which was Jamie’s. For courage, she downed the champagne all at once, bubbles fizzing in her mouth. Thinking perhaps they wouldn’t hear her knocking, she decided to turn the knob and walk in.

A group of faces turned to stare, but she only had eyes for one. Towering over most, Jamie’s gaze found hers and a blinding smile widened on his face. Pushing through the crowd sitting on chairs and sofas, he met her at the door.

“You’re here!” Jamie leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. Claire was enveloped in the warmth of his scent – spice, citrus, and honey all at once. Resisting the urge to wrap her arms around him, she merely smiled and squeezed his shoulder.

“How are you, Jamie? Nervous?”

“A wee bit.” He grinned. “The day I dinna get the cramp in my wame, I’ll ken ‘tis time to retire.” 

“Makes sense,” Claire laughed.

“Here, let me introduce ye.” Jamie took her hand (with only a minor jolt) and pushed past the throng. Composed of band members and a few random girls, the rest were close friends of Hugh Munro’s, who enjoyed the perks of knowing the owner. 

Claire was greeted cheerfully by Willie, Ian, and Rupert, who pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. She solemnly promised him to bring Geillis next time, regardless of work schedules. All the while introductions were made, Jamie did not let go of her hand. And neither did she.

Lastly, they approached a taciturn man who stood off by himself behind the chairs. He nursed a beer, and only raised an eyebrow as Jamie advanced closer, Claire in tow.  

“Claire, this is Murtagh, my uncle and our manager. Murtagh, this is Claire, whom I told ye all about.” A faint pink tinged his ears and the back of his neck. Again, he rifled his hand through the red tresses, embarrassed.

She stuck out her hand and was surprised by the firm grip, which held hers for a second longer than normal before he took a swig of beer.

“Mmphm. Ye’ll be the Sassenach lassie then. Yon lad hasnae shut up about ye since Edinburgh.” A thick Scots accent permeated his words, mumbled barely audibly. Claire strained to catch the tone of them, but they lacked any sort of discernible emotion.

“ _Sassenach_?” Claire peeked at Jamie, who turned even redder.

“It only means English, to a Scot. Uncle?” Jamie nudged Murtagh, who shook his head.

“Aye, no offense, lass. ‘Tis only he’s never dated an Englishwoman before. French fer sure, mebbe a Lowlander here and there.” He winked at Jamie, who covered his face in despair.

“Really? Well now, that’s interesting. Tell me more.” Claire winked back at Murtagh, who seemed on the verge of smiling.

“Nay. That’s enough. Thank ye, Uncle.” Jamie steered Claire away with a broad hand on her shoulder. She turned back to Murtagh one last time. 

“A pleasure, Murtagh!” The man raised his beer briefly in acknowledgement. She could clearly see that he was protective of his nephew, and liked him for it. 

At the back of the room stood a long table, crammed with platters of finger food. Squeezed in were bottles and bottles of whiskey. Claire could glimpse Laphroaig, Glenfiddich, Macallan, Glenlivet, and the odd bottle of Chivas and Johnnie Walker. Jamie insisted on exchanging her empty champagne glass with the whiskey , which she took neat.

“ _ _Sláinte__!” Jamie clinked her glass, and poured the liquor straight down his throat. Claire followed suit, grimacing a bit at the peaty taste and shivering as the heat of the whiskey lit her insides.

They stood side by side, watching the men interact with a group of girls. They didn’t look older than 25, some of them, Claire noted wryly. A few cast furtive glances at the corner where Jamie and Claire were standing, smiling when they looked at him, frowning openly at her. Claire tried not to care; she reminded herself that Jamie was after all famous, and it was only natural that they wanted to capture his attention. Finally, a girl gathered her courage enough to walk over and introduce herself to Jamie.

“ _Hiiiii_ ,” the girl tittered, flipping her long blonde hair and briefly touching Jamie’s arm. “I’m Malva. How are you?” She smirked, and slid sideways casually to block Claire completely from sight.

“Hello, Malva. Nice to meet ye. Who are ye with tonight?” Jamie offered a polite smile, used to fan encounters.

“Oh, I’m here with friends. Can’t wait for your set tonight. Which is your favorite song?” Malva sidled closer, and Claire was forced to take a step back, nearly knocking over some whiskey bottles.

“Och, weel, I like them all, I guess. Bad if I didn’t, eh?” Jamie reached out a hand behind Malva, and pulled Claire gently into his side. “This is a friend of mine, Claire Beauchamp.”

“Hello.” Claire felt the words stick in her throat. The back of her neck felt alternately cold and hot and prickly.

“Hey.” Malva’s stare was anything but friendly. If looks could kill, Claire thought briefly. She felt the momentary urge to nuzzle into Jamie’s neck, maybe plant a kiss or two there, marking him as hers.

_Oh wait. Am I… jealous of her?_

Claire dismissed the idea and tried to smile at the girl. She was only a fan, after all. Malva did not return her gesture and just flipped her hair again, hoping for Jamie’s attention.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around. Good luck with the show.” Malva let the tip of her tongue trail over her lips suggestively. Claire fought the impulse to scratch her eyes out and let her instincts take over, wrapping her arm around Jamie. Surprised, he glanced down at her, and smiled briefly at Claire.

“Thank ye. Hope ye enjoy it.”

Malva sauntered off, moving her hips in a really obvious way that made her look mostly ridiculous. Angus seemed willing to deal with her, and Claire breathed easier for the first time in minutes. 

Well. Was it always like this? she wondered.

“It isnae always like this, ye ken,” Jamie said.

Claire, startled, cursed her glass face again. “Like this what?”

“The fans. Some are pushier, or even grabbier, than others. Mainly they are respectful, they only want an autograph or picture. A bit of a chat. A hug sometimes. But that’s it.”

“Jamie, you don’t have to explain to me. I’m not—”

“Och, yer face looked like bloody murder fer a second there. I promise, I’d never dally with a fan like that. ‘Twouldna be right.”

“What about me?” Claire asked with a smile. 

“Ah, weel, ye said so yerself. Ye didna ken who we were to start with.”

 ______________________________________________________________________

The concert was phenomenal. Close to two hundred people crowded near the stage, clapping, and singing along. The surprise performance had gone over spectacularly, the patrons raising the roof when The Clan was announced.

Murtagh had led her to stage left, where Claire had stood mesmerized by the show, and by Jamie in particular. He was  _great_  at what he did, playing off the audience and  gauging their mood and seeming to know just when to kick it up a notch. The band had them all riled up since the beginning, playing upbeat songs that had everyone, Claire included, dancing in their spots.

Finally, as the hour grew late, the songs grew mellower. Claire swayed on her feet, head keeping time with the rhythm. Every once in a while, Jamie would turn to look at her and smile. Finally, close to one in the morning, Jamie pulled up a stool and took up his acoustic guitar. The crowd quieted down a bit to listen.

“Now fer a new song, written verra recently. This one goes out to the girl with whiskey eyes.”

Despite the screaming of a few girls who no doubt thought the song was for them, Claire felt her heart quicken and her palms tingle. He had once told her she was “bonny, with eyes like whiskey.” Was this song meant for her?

Jamie strummed his guitar, caressing the mike in a way that was only his.

 

_I know you’re hurting_

_You know better than anyone_

_It’s hard to let your heart trust_

_But this is real_

_I’m here for you_

_Good times and bad_

_This isn’t an ending_

_Only the beginning of something_

_I promise I will wait_

_As long as it takes_

_Because your heart is worth it_

_Feelings unknown_

_But let these words and actions show_

_To help you see, give me a chance_

_And so—_

 

_I promise I will wait_

_As long as it takes_

_Because your heart is worth it_

Claire’s cheeks flushed; she held her hands up to her face, trying to contain the heat. She looked around, but she was alone in the dark, staring out at the blue-lit stage where Jamie was calling out to her. Time ceased to matter; what she thought she ought to do or feel was irrelevant. It seemed like everyone would read it on her damned glass face.

As Claire realized herself in that moment, in the space of a ¾ tempo, her heart had decided of its own volition to tumble over the abyss and into those feelings unknown.


	6. Chapter 6

“It’s f-f-freezing!” Claire stuttered, holding herself tight inside her fluffy down coat.

“Aye, ‘tis.” Jamie smiled, hugging Claire close. “But beautiful.” Wrapped as they were in thick scarves and warm hats, no one looked twice at the couple—particularly at Jamie, who usually stood out like a sore thumb.

Frost and snow hung thick on the branches, the pathways cleared of ice. Holiday decorations were up, and everything was ablaze with twinkle lights. The Christmas markets were brimming with Santas, snowmen, and candy cane crafts.

Hyde Park Winter Wonderland teemed with Londoners and tourists. They walked hand in hand—or mitten in glove—swinging, giddy with the knowledge of each other. It was only the last week of November, but Christmas was already on display.

“Christmas with Uncle Lamb wasn’t always traditional,” Claire said, gazing in true wonder at the holiday explosion around her. “I’ve lived here forever and I’d never been to this market.”

“At Lallybroch, we usually do Hogmanay – sort of a New Year’s celebration.” Jamie stood behind Claire, holding her close, as they both admired a Christmas village miniature. “Verra traditional.”

*** 

_“Thank you Duke’s! Good night!”_

_The Clan trooped offstage, glistening with the sweat of their efforts and the heat of the spotlights. Jamie had found Claire in the wings._

_“Jamie, that was amazing!” Claire exclaimed, impulsively throwing her arms around his broad shoulders clad in his signature jacket. Jamie, heat radiating like a furnace, grabber her by the waist and swung her around._

_“Did ye like it?” he whispered, words muffled by her hair._

_It was easier this way, to tell him without having to look into the sapphire depths. “Of course I did! I can’t believe you would—that anyone would write a song. For me.”_

*** 

“It was my favorite place, whenever my uncle brought us to the city. Frank’s job as historian would occasionally bring him here too, but mostly libraries,” Claire said lightly.

They climbed the steps to the entrance of the British Museum, arms linked. The lighting threw the shadows of the columns onto the square, at the late hour.

“I think my parents brought me here when I was a bairn. Jenny and I, we were young.”

“Do you have more siblings?” 

“Nay. My mother, Ellen, she died when I was twelve. And my newborn brother with her.” Jamie swallowed hard, and shook his head at the memory. “My father followed when I was 23, from a stroke.” He ran his hands through his fiery thatch. “His name was Brian.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She squeezed his arm in sympathy, knowing in their shared experiences that no more words were necessary between them.

Jamie got their passes, smiling widely for the museum employee who recognized him. He paused to grab a map of the galleries, but Claire immediately headed to the left for the elevators. “Come on!”

“We only have an hour! Fridays close at 8:30. What would ye like to see, Sassenach?” Besides Lady Jane, now she had new nicknames.

“Follow me!” She grinned and stepped inside the elevator; pushing the button for the third floor, Jamie slipped in next to her.

“What is it,  _mo nighean donn_?” He nuzzled her neck briefly and she pulled away, tickled.

“The Roman Empire. Then the Greek rooms. They were remarkable healers, for their time.”

*** 

 _“Of course it was fer ye! Who else,_ mo nighean donn _?” Jamie’s smile was blinding; he felt breathless from the high of the performance and the feel of Claire in his arms._

_“You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”_

_“Come wi’ me.” Jamie looked around, and seeing no one, took Claire’s hand and led her towards the back exit._

_They stepped out into the cold London night, their breath visible in the light from a single halogen lamp above the door. They found themselves in an alley that reeked of refuse, but Claire scarcely noticed. Sliding his arms around her again, Jamie’s fingers traced patterns on the back of her jacket. Claire wished it was her skin, and felt her cheeks flame again._

*** 

“Is it Chinese?” 

“I think they call it Mandarin.”

“So the sword was stolen.”

“Yes. Shhh.” Claire pulled a packet of Cadbury English toffee from her purse and shoved it into Jamie’s hands. “Watch the movie.” The tiny art-house theater was almost empty, but she knew how annoying they were being.

Jamie opened the bag and took a piece, offering another to Claire. She ate it absent-mindedly, focused on the film. The assassin was revealed when she felt a hand resting lightly on her knee.

Claire looked down, then at Jamie; his expression was perfectly neutral, eyes on the screen. She crossed her right leg over the left, and saw Jamie’s mouth twitch.

“Watch the movie yerself, Sassenach. Ye’ll miss the subtitles.”

“Can’t think you’re paying much attention either.” She took Jamie’s hand in her own, twining her fingers with his.

*** 

 _“I thought of the phrase from the moment I saw ye._ Mo nighean donn _means ‘my brown-haired lass’ in the Gaelic.”_

_“Brown is rather dull, I’ve always thought.” Claire’s heart pounded disjointedly; she was sure he would be able to hear it if he moved any closer._

_“Not at all. There’s flecks of dark gold and a bit of red too, like water ruffles over a rock in a stream.” Jamie tangled a hand in the unruly curls. Claire closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle touch._

_She reached up and tentatively fingered the wavy locks, vivid fire in the light. There was amber and roan, orange and auburn. She had never seen anything like it._

_“Claire,” Jamie whispered, bringing his forehead against hers._

*** 

“’Tis only 5 days ‘til Christmas, Claire. I’d like to ask ye to come to Lallybroch with me.” Jamie’s eyes were eager, hopeful.

“Scotland? Really?” Claire put down her fork, wiping her mouth with the napkin.

“Where we first met.” The smile he gave her was only hers. She blushed and sipped her wine.

“I’d have to work overtime, to ask for some days off. Also—” she paused shyly. 

“What is it?” Jamie took her hand encouragingly. 

“I’d like to turn in applications for medical school in January. If I get accepted, then I’ll have to start studying again.”

“That’s wonderful, Sassenach! I’m so proud of ye!” Jamie kissed her hand, holding it tightly. He signaled the waiter for another bottle.

“It will mean I will probably see less of you than I do now.” Claire sighed.

Jamie nodded. “We start recording a new album in the New Year as well. In Edinburgh, the label’s recording studio.” He poured out another glass, and clinked it against Claire’s. “But we’ll talk every day,  _mo nighean donn_. I promise.” He took her hand again. “We’ll both be busy, and time will fly by.” 

A quiet but distinct noise caught their attention. The click and whirr of a camera from a corner of the restaurant. Claire turned casually, and spotted the culprit a few tables away.

“I think they’re photographing us, Jamie.” Claire looked down and tried to extricate her hand from his.

“I dinna care. We’re not doing anything wrong.” Jamie leaned in and gave each of her knuckles a soft kiss. “On the contrary.”

“And we’re doing what, exactly?” Claire smiled, tapping his foot under the table with her heels.

“I’m having dinner. On a date. With my girlfriend.” Jamie smiled. “I want the whole world to know.”

***

_Jamie’s lips brushed softly against hers, warm and gentle. He pressed a hand hesitantly against her back to bring her closer._

_Claire rose on her toes, her arms around him in response. He tasted of salt and whiskey and promises and she wanted it all._

_“Your heart is worth it,” Jamie murmured in the dark._


	7. Chapter 7

The rolling green dominated the landscape. The Range Rover came to a halt in front of a sprawling stone house, somehow managing to look older than the hills it stood upon.

“Lallybroch.” Jamie swept his hand, encompassing the house and the land and seemingly everything around them.

Claire gazed out of the windshield, entranced by the ancient feel of the very stones. “This is not a manor house, Jamie. This is a castle.”

“Ach, no,” he said, ducking his head modestly. “Truly, ‘tis only a farm. There’s a broch, but it’s old and crumbling now. We can visit it later, if ye like.”

“What’s a broch?” Claire unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car.

“A tower, of sorts. The auld lairds of Lallybroch would be called Lords Broch Tuarach, after the north-facing tower.” Jamie reached for their bags in the backseat and joined Claire, taking her hand as they approached the massive front door.

“A tower doesn’t really have a face, you know,” Claire teased.

“Weel, the door faces north. That’ll do.” Jamie smiled, and made to open the door.

“Shouldn’t we knock?” Claire felt nerves and trepidation, about to meet the famous Jenny and the rest of the Jamie’s family. She knew how much they all meant to him, and how big a step this was for them.

“’Tis my home. No need.” He stole a quick, soft kiss to quell her obvious nerves and then called out, “Hello the house!” He dumped the bags by the staircase. Claire stood next to him, taking in her surroundings.

Everything looked antique, but not in a museum-like way. Everything, from the furniture to the paneled walls, looked loved, cared for. Carved tables and tapestries mingled with a modern cordless phone and lamps. Uncle Lamb would have a field day, she thought.

Thundering footsteps broke into her reverie, and a tall gangly teenager came tumbling down the stairs. “Uncle Jamie!” In a blur, Jamie was rocked back in a fierce hug.

“Ian, lad!” Jamie squeezed and lifted the boy straight off the ground. They slapped each other on the back in a great show of affection before Jamie let him go, and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.

“Ian, this is Claire. Sassenach, this is Young Ian, my nephew and godson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” Young Ian grinned easily. “Welcome!” He picked up their bags and shot up the stairs two at a time. “I’ll just put these in yer room! Mam’s in the kitchen!”

Jamie and Claire held hands as they walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. They were assailed by the aromas of fresh baked bread and something delicious and steamy bubbling away on a stove. Claire half expected it to be an ancient cast-iron affair, but it was quite modern, by the rest of Lallybroch’s standards.

Jenny’s back was to them as she washed dishes at the sink. Jamie put his finger to his lips and blinked at Claire. He tiptoed (as much as a man his size might) and prepared to scare Jenny by tickling her ribs. His hands reached out but were stopped by a sudden, “Don’t even think about it, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

Jenny craned her neck over her shoulder and gave them a wicked smile. “Hey there, little brother.” Her hands never stopped working, even as Jamie smiled abashedly and gave her a peck on the cheek. She turned off the water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, engulfing Jamie in a warm embrace. “It’s been too long,” Jenny said, pushing back and smiling. She looked over his shoulder at Claire, who witnessed the encounter wistfully longing for family.

“And this is Claire, I presume.” Jenny stepped around Jamie, giving her a quick appraising glance—cordial, but guarded. Claire extended her hand, which was enveloped in Jenny’s cool grasp.

“It’s great to meet you. Jamie’s missed Lallybroch terribly, and all your children.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose like dark wings. Her eyes had that slanted look identical to Jamie’s, resting on high cheekbones reminiscent of Viking royalty. “I’m sure he did. Weel, dinner is stew. ‘Tis something I can leave on the stove and no’ worry, since I’ve been tending the goats and sheep, and cooking for Hogmanay with Mrs. Crook.”

“She’s the housekeeper slash cook, but she’ll be off wi’ her own family for Christmas,” Jamie interjected.

“We can sit down to eat, now ye’re here.” Jenny squeezed Jamie’s hand and turned to the stove. “Young Ian, Jamie, Maggie, Kitty! Dinner! Come wash up!” She glanced at Jamie. “Could ye get Ian from the barn? He’s been tending to the hay now Rabbie’s gone home fer the holidays.”

There was a meowing at the kitchen door as Jamie approached it. He opened it to let a grey cat in, who pranced inside as though he owned Lallybroch. From the way Jenny bent down to coddle it, Claire suspected it might be the case.

“I see Adso of Melch is still alive, Jenny,” Jamie said, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“He is.” Jenny stood and toed the cat away from the stove. “Ye wee fiend, get on wi’ ye.”

Adso stopped in the middle of the kitchen, as soon as it spotted Claire. Jenny looked appraisingly at the cat, as though almost willing the cat to respond in some way. Claire decided to follow Jenny’s example and squatted, staring into its green eyes.

The cat slowly walked over to her, sniffing about her knees. It purred softly; Adso located her hand and pressed against it, enticing Claire to rub its ears. She obliged, marveling at the soft fur and turned to Jamie, who smiled down at her. “He likes ye, Sassenach.”

Jenny let out a contained breath, and the first truly welcoming smile bloomed on her face. “Never mind my bonny cheetie. Go fetch Ian, if ye please. And shut the door, before we freeze. Claire, we’re so glad to have ye.”

_______________________________________________________________________  

“Let me get this straight. If Adso didn’t like me, Jenny wouldn’t either?”

“Adso is held in very high regard around here, Sassenach. He’s an excellent judge of character. He led Jenny onto a nanny who would steal from her purse and a drunken horse handler.”

They trudged up the stairs after bidding the family good night. Dinner had been superb, Jenny and Ian and their children all gathered at the table. The babble and laughter of a large family tugged at Claire’s heartstrings, making her long for one of her own. The children’s ages ranged from Jamie’s namesake at 18 who attended uni at Glasgow, and Young Ian at 14; the girls Maggie and Kitty who were 12 and 9 respectively. Ian (the elder) had presided over dinner in his role of father—a far cry from the rock star life he led on tour with The Clan.

“And what is that Melch in his name?” Claire took Jamie’s hand as he led her around the dark upstairs hallway.

“Our mam always had a cheetie. They were all named the same, after a German saint. Adso of Melch, Adso of Milk, ye ken,” Jamie said with a smile.

They walked up to a solid wooden door. Jamie pushed it open, to reveal a bright fire set in the grate, and both their bags in the room. Claire swallowed nervously and glanced at Jamie.

They hadn’t slept together thus far, though they had participated in some hot and heavy (emphasis on the  _hot_ ) make out sessions at Claire’s and at Jamie’s flat. Hands roving, breath panting, Jamie had given her space and time to express what she wanted and  _when_  she wanted it. Young Ian had plainly made some assumptions of his own.

And why not? They were both consenting adults in a relationship and what they did (or didn’t do) in bed was entirely their own business. Space and time—the continuum of which was grinding to a halt, as there was nothing Claire wanted more right then and there than to feel Jamie’s arms around her and—

“Claire. I can sleep elsewhere.” Jamie squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Or on the floor if I can have the quilt. Ye don’t have to—”

Claire stopped his words with a kiss her hands tangled in the ruddy mess of his hair. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back towards the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. They tumbled together onto the carved wooden bedstead, the frame creaking slightly.

“Won’t they hear?” Claire asked breathlessly.

“The walls are made of solid stone,” Jamie mumbled, his lips on her neck. “We can be as loud as we like.”

His hand crept under her sweater; higher and higher, until she could feel it caressing the underside of her breast. It was only then that she opened her eyes and met his own, whiskey and azure, everything bathed in the light of the slowly burning fire laid in the hearth.

Jamie’s hand stilled, and he brought his forehead to hers. “Claire, I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?”

She almost didn’t recognize voice as her own, so high and gasping, “Yes. Yes, I’ll have you.” Permission granted, his hands were all over her body all at once. Skimming down her back, leaving tingling desire in their wake, gliding over her navel. Their clothes came off in a flurry of wool and jeans.

Slowly and reverently Jamie helped her shed her bra and underwear, his boxer briefs following suit. Completely exposed to each other, Jamie laid his hand on her bare hip, staring at her flush curves gilded by firelight.

“Ye are so beautiful,  _mo nighean donn_.”  

Claire felt suddenly shy and made to cover herself, but Jamie stopped her. “No, Sassenach. I want to look at you.” Claire blushed but let him gaze, slowly growing bold enough to return it.

His body came closer to hers, with his own muted fiery glow. He kissed down her neck, licking here and there. His large hands, calloused from playing guitar, teased and nipped at her breasts. Claire’s hands drifted down his back, pressing and urging him ever closer.

As his touch strayed lower, his intentions became clear. Claire raised herself on her elbows, effectively dislodging Jamie’s head from her stomach. His eyes held a question even as they seared with want.

“Jamie… no one’s ever—I mean—” Her cheeks burned red as she gestured with meaning.

He smiled and stretched up to kiss her gently. “Do ye want me to?”

“I don’t know. Won’t it… will it—”

“Let me taste ye.” Jamie trailed fingers up her leg. “Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether if ye wish.” He brushed his lips over her belly, eyes blazing up at her.

Claire surrendered, falling back on the pillows and putting her arm over her eyes. Her knees trembled as he settled between them, parting them open and his arms locked around her thighs. She felt a brief kiss ( _right there!_  she thought incoherently) before she was flooded with pleasure, his tongue working magic on her most secret of places. She gasped as Jamie anchored her body to the bed with his arms, desire shooting through her veins. There were sounds coming from her lips she had never made before. Fleetingly she thought of covering her mouth before the feeling climbed higher and higher until it broke over her, making her shudder in release.

“Oh Jamie…” Her hand traced his jawline, as he smiled at her and kissed the inside of her thigh. Jamie moved and rose over her, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself and found it arousing.

He ground his pelvis gently into hers, swallowing her moans as her legs wrapped around him. Claire could feel the length of him sliding against her, and she urged him to her, hands on the small of his back.

Jamie braced himself on his forearms, and aligned himself at her slippery cleft. With a final nod from Claire, he eased himself inside her, slowly but inexorably moving forward as she dug her fingers into his back. The sensation was intense as he withdrew and pushed inside, again and again. Jamie held Claire close, the hair on his chest tickling her as they panted and he groaned and she whimpered with pleasure.

Their bodies rocked together as though they had known each other for years, simply waiting for the chance to join. Claire lost herself in pure sensation; the weight of his body perfect on hers, the spicy scent of him mingling with the smokiness of the fire, the mixture of Gaelic and English words he poured into her ear as he thrust faster and faster.

Feeling surged as they both chased the illusive spark of completion. Jamie’s hand splayed on her hip, and hitched her leg higher along his body. Her back arched instinctively. As he shifted, he hit a spot deep within her from a new angle, and in a few quick motions Claire shattered, crying out against his shoulder.

Jamie followed soon after, the tension breaking free as every muscle quivered, his mouth a wide O of relief and wonder. Their eyes met, half-lidded with satisfaction. Claire smiled languidly, running her hands through Jamie’s red curls. He withdrew gently, kissing Claire over and over, his lips at the hollow of her neck where perspiration shone and her pulse raced.

The heady feeling gradually dissipated, and the winter chill stole back into the room, making Jamie and Claire shiver with something more than spent desire. Still smiling, they crawled beneath the covers; Jamie pulled Claire close to him, her back to his front as he settled behind her, his arm holding her tightly.

“Oh, Claire…  _tha gaol agam ort_ ,” he breathed against her skin.

“What does that mean?” she asked drowsily.

“I’ll tell ye tomorrow,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “We have time. I want to show you the loch, and the village, and take ye on a tour of the farm. I think ye’ll like the wee beasties and…”

She drifted off to sleep, his voice murmuring in the dark, safe in the knowledge of love and safety in Jamie’s arms and in her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Her feet creaked on the landing, the wood protesting. She could hear something behind the door, and she was afraid to open it, but she followed an unknown pull that drew her hand to turn the knob.

The sounds were unmistakable. Their bodies writhed and a pillow tumbled to the floor. Warm, sugary-scented candlelight flickered over their faces. She’d seen enough—she turned and ran out of the room.

Her legs didn’t seem to want to obey her. Rushing down the stairs her feet caught on the carpeting and she tripped, falling, falling, falling…

Claire jerked awake, breathing hard. Beside her, Jamie stirred and flung his arm over her. She placed her hand over her heart, willing it to stop hammering.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” he asked sleepily.

“Yes. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Bad dream.”

“Weel, no wonder, I took all the blankets. Ye’re cold as ice—that’ll give ye the nightmare. Come here.” Jamie bundled her under the quilt; his own body radiated heat and she curled up against him, her head on his shoulder. Her heart was slowing down, and she closed her eyes, hoping to reclaim sleep.

Jamie’s hand stroked her arm lazily, while pressing small kisses into her hair. Claire was lulled, warm, the fear of her dream fading fast. After a few minutes, Jamie spoke.

“I’ll need to get up soon. I promised Jenny I’d help with the chores to free her up to get some Christmas things ready.”

“What time is it?” Claire mumbled. 

“Um… about 5, I think.”

“Oh God. It’s still dark out. It’s too early. You can’t go out there now. Stay. Here. With me.” She clung to him tighter, unwilling to let him out of the bed.

“A promise is a promise, Sassenach.” He extricated himself gently, pausing to run his fingers through her curls. “I like it. Looks like the bramble bush outside.”

Claire swatted him feebly, too tired to really try. She burrowed deeper into the bed, and Jamie kissed her nose. He dressed in the light of the leftover embers while she watched, and wanted.

“I’ll bring ye coffee. You don’t have to come wi’ me, Claire. I ken it’s yer vacation and up early the rest of the time. I’ll go milk the goats and pitch hay for the coos, they’ll be sufferin’ fer it.”

“Coos?”

“Highland coos. Beautiful creatures.”

She peered over the quilt. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Dress warmly then. Ye’re about to meet the herd.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh, and Sassenach?”

“Yes?”

“Merry Christmas.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The mountain air was icy but invigorating. Claire touched her cheeks, the wool mittens warm on her reddened skin. She pulled her scarf up higher around her face.

She and Jamie leaned against the fence, watching Jenny’s merino sheep baa and butt each other. It was only noon, but her body was exhausted; not only from their efforts last night, but from fetching and hauling and working alongside Jamie.

They stood quietly side by side, watching the animals’ antics. Their breath mingled in cloudy puffs, and Claire couldn’t remember when she had last been this happy.

He was in her like a livewire, after only weeks of knowing each other. It was too much, too soon, too fast. Too right. And her heart… the kiss in the alley had given it to Jamie irrevocably.

Claire took his hand in hers and clasped it tight. He smiled down at her, and sang, “ _Oh, the weather outside is frightful…_ ”

She laughed. “It’s not so bad now.”

“There’s snow coming soon. We’re expecting the band fer Hogmanay. When are ye due back to work,  _mo nighean donn_?”

“January third. And your recording sessions?”

“Few days after that. We can have some time in London.” He kissed her briefly and they started back to the house.

The ancient stones stood grey and silent as they approached. Claire could glimpse Jenny in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the family. At the door, Jamie stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Claire, I have something for you,” he said. With a shy smile, he pulled a gold chain from his coat pocket. Dangling from it, was a gold ring with a ruby set in it. Jamie held it in front of Claire, the weight of the ring causing it to twirl. “It belonged to my da, and his da before him, on and on back. I usually wear it, but it can be a bit troublesome when playing guitar so… I’d left it here in Jenny’s care.”

Claire swallowed thickly, understanding the implications of his gift. This had belonged to his father; it was a tangible memory of family and belonging. By giving her this ring, Jamie made it clear he thought of her as part of him, intrinsic and bone-deep. She reached out to touch the gleaming stone, and smiled in acceptance.

Jamie undid the tiny clasp, the gold links of the chain delicate as filigree. He fastened it behind her neck, fingers lingering on her collarbones. Claire touched the ring, nestled against her sternum.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and he leaned in for a kiss. Then she came to a realization.

“Oh my God, I feel so bad, I didn’t get you anything! What with the shifts and all—”

“It doesna matter. I brought presents for the children, from both of us.” Jamie opened the door and removed his dirty boots before Jenny could protest. Claire imitated him, carefully removing her coat and layers. She was very much aware of the presence of the ring.

“Besides.” He turned and wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her close enough for whispering.

“You gave me  _you_.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Jamie’s acoustic guitar playing Christmas carols and traditional Scottish songs reverberated with the myriad of voices singing along and laughing riotously. Everyone was absolutely soused, the drams flowing and never-ending.

The rest of The Clan had arrived, Rupert and Willy and Murtagh, to stay and celebrate Hogmanay and welcome the New Year. Rupert had cornered Claire and would not stop talking about Geillis. Claire lent a sympathetic ear and on the whole, rather liked the match between them; from the way Rupert talked about her friend, she suspected they were more serious than she had originally thought—and was glad for them. Willy was there, shy as ever, but joining in the loud choruses and tossing back drink after drink.

Murtagh joined Claire on the sofa by the fire, offering her a tumbler of Macallan. They toasted Christmas and Jamie and the Frasers in general. If he noticed Brian Fraser’s ring on Claire, he said nothing, but regaled her with stories of Jamie as a child and teenager. Every word Murtagh spoke revealed the tenderness involved in practically raising a child not his own. Claire wondered why Murtagh was single—deceiving surliness notwithstanding—when he clearly had so much love to give.

Jenny, however, was not blind. Her eyes had zeroed in on the ring around Claire’s neck the moment they stepped inside the house into her presence. Her eyes had widened but she said nothing outright. As the evening progressed and everyone’s inhibitions lowered significantly, now she approached Claire and sat next to her.

“That was my da’s,” Jenny said quietly, sipping from her own glass.

“Yes, Jamie told me.” Claire felt uncomfortable for a moment – Brian had also been Jenny’s da. Perhaps— “Do you not approve? Would you like me to give it back? Maybe you should have it for your own sons—”

Jenny waved her off. “I have my mam’s pearls and other things, for my daughters as well. This is Jamie’s to give as he will.” She reached out and touched a finger gently to the ruby, warmth on her face and in her voice. “And let me tell you—he could not have chosen someone worthier.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Claire ground her hips against Jamie’s, one hand holding her steady above him. Firelight cast them into molten gold as each found their completion in the other’s body.

Jamie groaned as Claire rocked to find more friction, more heat, more of him. He kneaded her breasts, traced a finger down to her navel, and settled on the pulsing point of their union. Claire clenched around him, dissolving into a heap of spent limbs and curly hair. Their foreheads touched as Jamie took his pleasure, gasping into her ear.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort. An-còmhnaidh_.” His hands gently traced patterns on her back as she lay spent on top of him, too lazy and sated to shift next to him. Her skin pebbled in goose bumps as she shivered in delight.

“You’ll have to teach me the  _Gaidhlig_ ,” she said, smiling. She propped her hands under her chin, resting on his chest. “I think I can only translate about 5 words. Not fair.”

“I can teach ye, Sassenach.” Jamie pushed her hair behind her ears, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Repeat after me.  _Tha gaol agam ort_.”

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.” Claire did her best to imitate his accent.

“ _An-còmhnaidh_.” Jamie caressed her face gently, tenderly.

“But what does it mean?” she insisted, pressing a kiss into the palm of his hand.

Jamie took a deep breath. “It means… I love ye. Always.”

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she considered bolting. Rising from the bed, giving up the warmth and comfort of his body. Dressing fast in the demi-dark, leaving him behind. And her heart ached at the thought. So she allowed the brief wave of panic to wash over her, and let it go.

Jamie’s eyes were still on her, steadfast and unwavering. Claire met them bravely, whiskey and blue fire, and kissed his honey mouth.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_. Always.”


	9. Chapter 9

Claire tossed the newspaper aside, sighing in frustration.

Joe had stuffed the copy in her locker, attached to a Post-It with a question mark and a heart drawn on it. It was a daily gossip rag, featuring a picture snapped at the restaurant before Christmas. Jamie was featured at an angle, smiling at Claire, and then a smaller picture beneath that showing Claire’s face for all to see.

The article labeled Claire as Jamie’s new squeeze ( _God, who even used that word?_ ) and included accurate details of her work and past. She guessed it wasn’t that hard to Google. She ran a hand through her curls, and with the other clutched at the chain around her neck until she touched the ruby ring, for comfort.

She felt her privacy had been invaded, obviously, but also that protective bubble they had formed around them, separate from Jamie Fraser the rock star. This was reality seeping in. It was relatively harmless, but still…

Claire sighed again. There was work to do.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

The room was dark; a faraway streetlight cast a glow through the window so their features were faintly outlined. Jamie gave a brief laugh, and his hand never stopped tracing patterns on her back.

“I ken how ye feel. On the one hand, I would like nothing more than to stay wi’ ye. On the other, there’s the second thing l love most – music.”

“The second, huh?” Claire kissed his shoulder and snuggled in closer.

“The writing, composing, working with my mates… it’s such a part of who I am. I’m blessed many times over.”

Claire made a small noise of agreement and held him closer to her. There had been a couple more pictures Claire and Jamie walking around London. She had taken to wearing thick woolly scarves to wrap around the lower half of her face, obscuring most of it from view of the constant, clicking paparazzi.

Her flat and Jamie’s had become a sanctuary away from curious eyes who sometimes believed that because Jamie was a public figure, they were entitled to touch and scream at him. And that because Claire was dating him and therefore ‘hers’, she deserved vitriol and hatred.

Was he worth it too? The small inconveniences? Joe had had hospital security escort her as she left work. She plainly ignored the photographers who regularly camped outside her building. She refused to take calls from various morning shows who wanted to interview her or get her opinion on various celebrity topics. She got hate e-mail from spurious accounts and the occasional mean glare from random strange women.

Yes, she would do it all again in a heartbeat.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Call me when you land.” Claire swallowed against the lump in her throat as she gripped the front of his jacket.

“Ye ken I will, Sassenach.” Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his forehead against hers. “I’ll be back before ye notice. We’ll talk every day. We’ll both be busy as bees, and time will fly by. Dinna fash, alright?” He bent his mouth to hers and lost themselves in each other, ignoring the blaring airport announcements and the racket of other passengers awaiting flights.

Claire held him tight, a small thread of fear weaving into her heart. She didn’t know why she felt so emotional, so clingy – she who was usually so practical and sensible. Perhaps because her heart understood how much it stood to lose if Jamie ever left for good.

Jamie gave her discreet pat on the bottom, making her laugh, and the somber mood was broken. He kissed her nose with a whispered  _I love you_  and shouldered his carry-on backpack. Claire crossed her arms, holding herself as he walked down the gangway. Jamie turned and waved, then marched around the corner out of sight. Until three weeks.

One minute down – 30,239 minutes to go.

_______________________________________________________________________

“What makes it go faster, Sassenach, is that I had many song lyrics written down. We’re here fine-tuning and coming up wi’ music to accompany them,” Jamie said, his face crystal clear on the screen.

“I’m glad,” Claire replied, sipping her coffee one-handed as she held her phone to video chat with him; she was still in her robe and pajamas, enjoying a rare morning off from the hospital. “What else have you been doing?”

“No’ much. We’ve been out to dinner a few times, me and the lads, and yer friend Geillis and Rupert are really something, let me tell ye.” Jamie wrinkled his nose and laughed.

“I hear that too. She’s been texting me a lot the past week.” Geillis had been thrilled to be in the same city with Rupert for once, and both had been out and about frequently. Rupert was not as high profile as Jamie, so reporters and paparazzi seemed to leave them alone. Geillis had, however, been discussing Claire’s new public persona frequently via phone, asking her how she felt about it and offering much-needed reassurance.

“And ye,  _mo nighean donn_?”

“Work. Study. Work. Study. Medical school is hard, but I love it,” Claire said happily, nestling into the corner of her couch. “I’m preparing for my next class this afternoon, and I have a lot of notes to go through.”

“Then I won’t keep ye. It’s good to see ye, hear yer voice. I miss ye. We’ll talk tonight, aye?” Jamie grabbed his own phone and seemed to be walking down a corridor. Claire recognized it from pictures as the recording studio.

“Of course. I look forward to it.” Claire smiled coyly and drew a finger down the edge of her robe, past the ring on its chain, following it with the camera on her phone until she heard Jamie gasp.

“So do I, Sassenach,” he growled as Claire pulled the phone up and blew him a kiss goodbye.

_______________________________________________________________________

Claire was focused at the hospital that weekend, intent on helping out an immigrant family whose child had been admitted with a fever. They spoke little English, and Claire had made it her personal mission to help them navigate A&E and support them through this uncertain time.

She was nervous about an upcoming test in her biochemistry class, wanting to do well and prove herself to her professors. She was scheduling study time between her work hours and days off, even using her break time to peruse her textbooks and notes frequently.

So Claire didn’t notice the looks and whispers some of the other staff were giving her, particularly the female nurses. No one had spoken to her directly about any problem or incident, so she ignored it for the most part. Until Dr. Abernathy approached her at the end of her shift.

She wound around her neck a beautiful blue, red, and green tartan scarf; a gift from Jenny in Fraser colors. She was about to step outside when Joe called out.

“Lady Jane? Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Claire said, confused. “Is it a patient? Should I change again?”

“No, it’s—personal. Please, LJ, come with me.”

Claire was instantly alert, sensing tension in Joe’s tone. Perhaps she had made a mistake in one of her charts. She started going through a mental list of her patients and their care as she strode briskly next to Joe down the hall to his small office.

Dr. Abernathy let her in first and shut the door firmly behind him and sat in his swivel chair, facing Claire. She sat down herself and gripped her purse, still confused as to what was so urgent.

“Claire, I asked the staff not to mention anything since I overheard the talk in the hospital lounge, because I thought it would upset you,” he began.

“Upset me? About what?”

“I suppose you haven’t seen it. I’m sorry, Lady Jane.” Joe sighed.

Claire exhaled in a huff. “Joe, I don’t understand it. Seen what? All this drama—”

Dr. Abernathy reached into a drawer and pulled out a folded newspaper. He flattened it out with the briefest hesitation on the desktop so Claire could read it.

_Jamie Fraser, lead singer of The Clan, caught in secret rendez-vous with famous French pop star Annalise de Marillac._


	10. Chapter 10

_Your heart is worth it._

Claire’s heart sank and stuttered as she stared at the ceiling in the gloom. Her shades were pulled down, allowing only a minimum of light to seep through the edges. Her fists were clenched tightly at her side, legs tangled in the sheets. 

So this is what heartbreak felt like. Fault lines with jagged edges carved into her chest. Dry heaving sobs, her eyes burning and red. So much worse than before.  _That_  hadn’t been heartbreak.  _This_ … this felt like the loss of life itself.

Her hair—the lovely, wild curls  _he_  had claimed to adore—were damp and plastered to her face. Tears had dried over and over in shiny silver tracks, sliding down her cheeks, across her temples, or onto her pillow as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

Joe had taken her home after the initial shock, where she had just sat on the couch. Her right hand had scrunched up the newspaper until it was  blurred and the strangled crying had begun. Joe had made her tea which had sat sullen and cold on the table. And so had she. Wrapped in her robe, she hadn’t attended classes or work, Joe calling in sick for her.

 _He_  knew. The unimaginable bastard had known from the beginning – she had been betrayed once. And she, stupid and foolish and trusting, had fallen for another liar. Again.

Her mind was weary and exhausted from going round and round in circles; dissecting every word, every kiss, every touch. Wondering if she had imagined it all—the gentleness of his hands, calloused and warm on her body. The gleam in his sapphire eyes when he looked at her…

_Tha gaol agam ort.  
_

Claire also wondered if that feeling would ever go away—that of being punched in the stomach, of a vise pressing on her sternum relentlessly and wouldn’t let her breathe properly since yesterday. The rage that snagged and clawed at her insides. A hand that was slowly but surely squeezing the life and blood from her heart. 

When she had gotten home last evening, supported by Joe up the stairs and through the apartment door, her mobile had rung. Without even pausing to see who was calling, she had thrown the phone at the wall. The screen had cracked and the phone lay there lifeless. Blessedly silent. No doubt she had been receiving calls and texts from many people – including  _him_. But what was there to say?

Giving up on sleep, she struggled to her feet and wrapped a duvet around her shoulders. Padding slowly through the apartment, she saw the newspaper still spread on her small kitchen table. Like poking a bruise to see if it still hurt, Claire had practically memorized the image that accompanied the offending article. 

His red hair was perfectly rumpled, and he was wearing that damnable leather jacket. She was a petite blonde bombshell, stylish and indefinably French. They had been photographed walking down the street, sunglasses obscuring their eyes, holding hands.  _Lead singer of The Clan and the famous Parisian songstress were spotted canoodling in a popular Edinburgh restaurant_ , it said.  _The two had previously dated in 2012 and seem to have rekindled their romance. Whatever happened to Claire Beauchamp – was there trouble in paradise?_

Disgusting.

Eyeing the newspaper askance ( _but why don’t you throw it out then?_ ) she gave the table a wide berth and opened the fridge. There was not much inside however, except some expired milk, wrinkled apples, and a wedge of cheese. Her stomach gurgled in protest; she decided to test if it would keep down some toast.

And then the intercom buzzer rang.

Claire dropped the blanket, hands shaking. It had to be Joe. He had understood her need for space and privacy to grieve, and knew her mobile was not available. She glanced at the phone—still on the floor, useless. The buzzer rang again.

She pressed the button and through the static crackle heard his voice. “Claire, please, I—”

She took the finger off the button and backed into stove. It couldn’t be. He was cavorting in Edinburgh with Annalise-what’s-her-face. Her heart slammed away in the vicinity of her throat, fear and anxiety and fury swelling inside.  _Shit, what if he got in?_  He had an emergency key, as she had one to his London flat. Would he use it? 

 _Of course not, he respects you, doesn’t he?_  a voice in her head piped up. No, he doesn’t; he cheated on me  _verra_  publicly with a French trollop, so shut up, Claire retorted. 

This inner monologue was interrupted by the strident intercom once more. Claire wouldn’t let him in. She couldn’t. But like the time she heard the song for the girl with the whiskey eyes, again her heart of its own volition propelled her forward and she pressed the button– but said nothing.

“Claire, I ken ye can hear me. I ken ye can.” His voice tore her quietly to pieces. “I want 5 minutes and then—”

“Do you need to get in, dearie?” Old Mrs. Fitz from the second story was apparently on her way out. 

“Sassenach, I’m coming up. Thank ye, ma’am.” Shit, shit—she had let him in.  _Fuck!_  

Her fist pounded the wall next to the intercom and she ran frantically toward the door. She could hear the thump of booted feet on the old stairwell, and she braced her hands against the door. Childish, but her feeling of righteous anger was stronger than logic at the moment. The bolt was locked, the chain in place.

“Claire.” 

Muffled by the wood between them, he stood beyond the door. There was no clinking of keys, no rattle of knob. She rested her forehead on the smooth, cool surface; her heart simultaneously skipped a beat at the knowledge he was here and unspeakable sorrow choked her words.

“Please.” His own voice sounded strangled and out of breath. “That picture isn’t what ye think, it was—”

“No,” she croaked, breaking through the tears. “I listened to you and every word out of your mouth was a lie. I should have known. You and me—” 

“ _Mo nighean donn_ , that lass and I—we used to date, yes, but years ago. I havena seen her since, and that picture, it was meant to spite me. The only truth is here, between us. Always…  _tha gaol agam ort_.”

Silence. 

She reached around her neck. Her fingers fumbled for the clasp of the chain that bore his ring, and exasperated, she yanked at it. The chain broke and lay crumpled in her palm with the cabochon ruby nestled in the middle.

Finally grateful for the wide and drafty crack under the door, she knelt and slipped the ring and chain through it. She heard him gasp and then a soft chink as he picked it up. A beat and a deep breath.

“Claire, I would never hurt you. Please, believe me,” he implored. 

“I did,” Claire whispered. “Not anymore.”

* * *

She had crawled back to the bedroom and finally slept for hours and hours.

Claire wasn’t aware of when he had left, but when she peeked under the door, there was no one there. No note either, nothing. The lack of food eventually got to her. Debating her choices, phone-less, she decided she had to leave the apartment to shop for groceries. Just around the corner. Then maybe e-mail her teachers. Get a bit of studying done. Stop thinking, stop feeling. 

Gathering strength she didn’t know was there, she dressed warmly and ambled over to the corner shop. No one talked to her, or even looked at her. Claire clutched her bags and trekked back to the building. And someone was waiting on the steps this time.

Tall, but not tall enough to be  _him_. She hated to admit it to herself; her heart pounded, but it was Joe who turned around.

“Lady Jane! Finally! I’ve been here for fifteen minutes. Are you alright?” He took the bags from her while she fumbled for her key. 

“I will be,” Claire said grimly, “I promise. Come in.”

Joe helped her put the groceries away, watching her warily all the time. Claire finally exhaled in exasperation.

“Joe, what is it?” She leaned against the counter and waited expectantly.

“He came to see me at the hospital yesterday,” Joe said simply; he also seemed to know instinctively not to say  _that_  name.

Claire crossed her arms defensively. “He came here, too. I refused to see him.”

“I did not. I wanted to hear what he had to say—explain himself. You are my friend, Lady Jane, and it hurts me to see you suffer.”

“I don’t want to hear more lies, Joe. Twice in less than a year… I think it’s more than enough.”

“He put his sister on the phone for me. Jenny?” Joe sat at the kitchen table and gestured for Claire to do the same.

“Yes. What does she have to do with this?” Claire asked resignedly, plopping down on the chair.

“She said to tell you, it’s not in her brother’s nature to lie,” Joe said carefully. He pulled a newspaper clipping from the pocket of his coat and set it in front of her. It was from a different publication, where The Clan’s PR denied the relationship between their lead singer and Annalise de Marillac. 

“Please. Celebrities do this all the time. Damage control.” She ran her hand through her hair, tired of excuses.

“She also pointed out something in the picture that doesn’t fit. Did you look at it,  _really_  look? Beyond the obvious, I mean. Fucking gossip rags will do anything for money.” Joe stood up and pulled the old newspaper towards them. Wrinkled, but otherwise clear. He smoothed it out. “Here. See?”

Joe tapped at the right hand, swinging beside  _him_. The left, enveloped in Annalise’s grip; Claire deliberately covered up the girl’s face. But the right hand… her breath caught in her throat. 

 _“It can be a bit troublesome when playing guitar,”_  he had said.

He was a left-handed guitar player. His right hand was always bare to enable him to press down on the strings and twist to play all the chords freely. 

He— _Jamie_ —was wearing the ring in the picture. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Faster.”

“I can’t.”

“Dammit, Joe!” Claire slammed her fists on the dashboard.

“LJ, there’s a speed limit. Your plane isn’t leaving any earlier than scheduled. Calm down!”

Claire sighed and fumed, curling up in the passenger seat. She drummed her fingers against the window until another murderous look from Joe made her stop with a huff.

As soon as she had realized her mistake, she was on Joe’s phone, dialing Jamie from memory. But it had gone straight to voicemail. Joe had plucked his mobile from Claire’s hands before she could hurl it against the wall too.

He had dialed Jenny’s number instead, and put Claire on immediately.

“Jenny? Oh God, I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry—”

“It doesna matter. It will work out,” Jenny said gently. “Right now, though, I need ye to get on a plane to Edinburgh. I’ve left an open ticket for ye at Gatwick, so please come as soon as ye can. Jamie’s back since yesterday, and he’s a mess.”

“So am I,” Claire gulped.

“He needs ye, Claire. As I’m sure ye need him” Jenny’s voice had gone quiet, and Claire had snapped out of her funk, racing to her room to pack.

“I’m on my way.”

*

The stupid train was faster than driving, she reminded herself, as it sped across the Scottish countryside.

From Inverness, she called Jenny from her new burner phone to be picked up. Then to Lallybroch. And Jamie.

As the driver Jenny had sent parked in front of the manor house, Claire jumped out, feet pounding on the gravel. Jenny threw open the kitchen door and embraced her fiercely. With a simple, “Go!” Claire bolted up the stairs. Closer.

Heart pounding, Claire knocked on the door to Jamie’s room. She could hear the strumming of his guitar, which didn’t stop, and then his voice called out.

“Jenny, go away.” Dejected, forlorn.

Claire swallowed hard. “It isn’t Jenny. It’s me, Claire.”

The guitar twanged abruptly. Footsteps and a pause.

“Sassenach—”

“May I come in?”

A beat. Two beats.

Claire fully expected him to tell her to go away too. She turned to oblige before he could do so, heart in her mouth, tears stinging.

Then a flurry of activity, trampling sounds, a couple of shits thrown in for good measure. And finally, a click and twist and the door swung open.

His eyes were bright as he looked at her, fingers gripping the door. Claire looked up at him through her eyelashes, unsure of where to begin. But at the beginning seemed best.

“I’m sorry. I believe you. I saw the picture. Joe and Jenny and…” Claire sighed, frustrated with her incoherence. “I looked closer. I noticed the ring. I’m here.”

Without warning, she found herself crushed against Jamie’s chest, and her hands clutching at him equally as tight.

“Claire,  _mo nighean donn_ , I’m sorry too. When Murtagh showed me the paper, I flew back to London. I knew it would be a blow, despite the lie.” Jamie brought her into the room and shut the door behind them.

They still hadn’t released each other. Jamie stepped back briefly, brushing Claire’s wild curls away from her face as she shook her head and laughed in relief—sweet sweet relief that flooded through her and wiped away all doubts.

“ _Tha gaol agam ort?_ ” she whispered, her own hands tangled in his hair.

Jamie smiled. “Always.”

*

“Thank you Edinburgh!” The answering clamor was deafening.

Claire grinned broadly from the wings, clapping her hands along with the crowd. The venue lights dimmed suddenly to blue. The backdrop of Edinburgh Castle was spectacular, the esplanade packed with fans all the way to the top tiers of the grandstands.

“Thank you, everyone.” Jamie took a seat on a stool and palmed a beautiful Gibson acoustic, with a tortoiseshell inlay that Claire had given him for his birthday. He laid it across his lap and touched the strings slowly. He managed to catch her eye and winked in his usual fashion – more like a nodding blink.

Claire laughed and blew him a kiss, as he turned to the audience and said, “This one is new. It goes out to the love of my life.”

He strummed out the intro chords, and sang.

 _Falling doesn’t come easy_  
It all takes time  
To give someone your heart  
I saw the walls, began to climb

 _You only wanted someone to stay_  
To be there for you  
To hold you close and say  
I won’t let go  
I promise I’ll be  
Someone to stay

Jamie rose suddenly as Willie took over with another guitar, keeping the same riff going over and over. Jamie walked purposefully towards Claire, and before she knew it, he had pulled her onstage in front of thousands of people.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, her face flaming crimson.

“Claire.” Her hands, which had been tugging his so she could get away, stilled at his tone. He was still wired to a mic, and her name reverberated over the grounds. She stared into the deep azure, made bluer by the artificial lights.

And then he went down on one knee.

The crowd went wild, but to Claire it sounded as though the roar came from underwater. Her eyes were on his and couldn’t look away. Not even as turned the palm of her hand so he could place the cabochon ruby ring into it.

“Claire… Sassenach… I want to be someone to stay. Will ye let me? Will ye marry me?”

*

_The roiling of her stomach and whirling in her head had her racing for the bathroom in the small hours of the morning. The sounds of her retching and the splash in the toilet bowl had Jamie padding barefoot over to Claire as he held her hair back._

_“Sassenach, I’m sorry you’re unwell.” He smoothed a hand across her forehead, which felt clammy and cold._

_“Stupid bloody sushi. Let’s never—” Claire’s moans were cut off in a fresh wave of nausea._

_“I’m throwing the takeout menu out. Dinna fash.” Jamie helped her up. She rinsed out her mouth and pressed a damp towel to her face._

_“I have class today. I can’t make it, though.” Claire stumbled back to the bed, kicking the comforter away in her flushed state. “I’ll text Louise.” She groaned into the pillow, but felt mildly better after expelling the contents of her stomach._

_“It isnae catching, love?” Jamie sat beside her and patted her back gently; she curled up on her side and took deep breaths._

_“I don’t think so. You go on ahead. I’ll call you later.” The soothing motions of Jamie’s hand on her back had lulled her halfway to sleep again._

_“I’ll call_ you _,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Rest easy, Sassenach. I love ye.”_

_“I love you more,” Claire mumbled into the bed._

_It was only hours later when she woke up that she realized: she was sick in the mornings. She was sleepy all the time. She did some backwards counting and discovered she was also late._

_After almost two years of trying, she needed a pregnancy test._

*

_“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”_

Claire smiled at Jamie, who beamed back as they held hands. They could hear a murmur of approval behind them as their nearest and dearest were gathered behind them in the church pews to witness their union.

_“To help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity…”_

All the band members were there with their families. Rupert and Geillis were there as a couple too, and all of Jenny and Ian’s bairns. The church was redolent with flowers, and flickering candlelight everywhere.

_“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”_

Ian Murray stood as best man, and held a black velvet box with their rings in it. For Jamie, a simple white-gold band he could easily play guitar with. For Claire, a silver ring with an intricate Highland pattern of Scottish thistles.

They left the church amidst a shower of rice and a chorus of well-wishers, to a beautiful reception at Lallybroch and a Mediterranean honeymoon.

*

_Claire waited anxiously in their bedroom as she heard the key turn in the lock. She heard Jamie close the door behind him and open the fridge. A clinking of bottles as he found the champagne._

_“Sassenach?”_

_Claire stifled a giggle, but did not answer. She heard his footsteps head in her direction and then stop abruptly._

_First, the Gibson guitar with a handwritten note on it that read “1979”.  She had set it on the floor between the kitchen and the living room._

_She fought the urge to peek. Jamie walked on, his tread easily recognizable. Then it stopped again, right outside their bedroom. Lying there was the stethoscope he had given her after she had passed her medical school finals. Alongside it was another note that read “1981”._

_“Oh, God.” Jamie’s voice was muffled behind the door, and Claire couldn’t resist._

_“Jamie?”_

_The door opened and finally, he saw her. Standing in the middle of the room, holding the last of the notes. This one had a purple question mark drawn on it, and “2018” printed beneath it._

_“’Tis true?” Jamie’s smile was blinding as he knelt in front of Claire, reaching out to her. His arms went around her legs and his face pressed against her still-flat belly. Her own hands brushed back his hair, and she caught the trickle of a tear sliding down his cheek._

_“Are you happy, Jamie?” A knot in her throat made the words come out in a whisper. Jamie raised his head to look up at her. His eyes were radiant, and he placed a kiss on her stomach._

_“I’m verra happy, Sassenach.” He smoothed her blouse over the invisible bump reverently. “Och, lad—or lass—” he added, with a smile in his voice, “we canna wait to meet ye. I’m yer Da.” Jamie cleared his throat. “Ye ken yer mam already, I’m sure. She’s a lady of grace, a woman of strength, a doctor and an astonishing beauty. She’s yer mam, Claire Fraser.”_

*

FIN


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